


just five more minutes.

by jetjumped



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, F/F, Fluff, so much fluff smh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetjumped/pseuds/jetjumped
Summary: Every Sunday, there's always a little more time to sleep in.





	

Her grip is anything but firm, constituted by two fingers and a thumb looping lazily around the Egyptian’s wrist. There’s a grumble of mock-indignancy and a tug, albeit gentle, when Fareeha’s toes brush against the carpet, leaning forward as if to stand.  


“Where do you think you’re going,” the voice mumbles from a cocoon of blankets and pillows, a sleepy smile peeking through. That’s enough to bring Fareeha crawling back under the covers, greeted by a blonde head nuzzling against her chest.

Five minutes lose their meaning when this happens most mornings, but it doesn’t stop her muttering, “just five more,” between soft kisses pressed to a crown of even softer hair. The clock eases past nine, ten, eleven o’ clock though neither of them pay the hour nor minute hands any notice. Counting seconds together felt like counting shared heartbeats, both ticking on seemingly endlessly. Fareeha wished moments like these never had to end.

* * *

Sundays were special and so it was fitting that the two of them spend it doing little to nothing. Private doctor Angela Ziegler could traipse around their third floor apartment with her shoulders wrapped in blankets from their very bed. Local police chief Fareeha Amari could spend an extra hour putting together brunch for two, smells of bacon, sausages and egg wafting out through the kitchen window.

Fareeha gives the pan a flick, egg flipping once in the air before landing perfectly with a sizzle. When Angela’s arms slip around her waist from behind, blanket slipping to her elbows and her head dropping to rest against her back, Fareeha smiles.

“Good morning.”

Angela hums her reply into the fabric of Fareeha’s shirt and presses a smile between her shoulder blades. Switching the pan handle for a spatula, Fareeha slides the egg onto a plate and twists around, holding the plate of brunch in one hand. Angela’s arms remain around her waist and she lifts her head until Fareeha is facing her before it falls forward again.

“Hungry?”

“Mm.”

“I made your favourite.”

No reply, though Fareeha’s certain she saw the corners of her mouth twitch upwards.

Fareeha laughs, wrapping her free arm around the doctor. “Brunch time nap it is.”

By the time she can settle Angela into the sofa at the coffee table - which has already been set for two, a jug of orange juice neighbouring a freshly picked vase of orchids and forget-me-nots - the doctor’s eyes have fluttered shut. A deceptively soft snoring escapes her in the slow pace of someone who hasn’t slept for more than one night in the past week gone by. Neatening the blanket, tangled beneath her as it had been, she drapes it over her rising and falling chest. She would do anything, be anything, if it meant Angela could relax.

Lingering for a moment stood by her side, Fareeha admires how calm she looks. A rare moment, and only really glimpsed on Sundays when they had agreed they would both take a day off. A decision that had been more than worth it, Fareeha reflects. The moment of calm is suddenly broken by a great snore from the doctor, her face now squished against the cushions. Adorable. Fareeha brushes a lock of hair away from her eyes and kisses her forehead.

“Sleep well, ya hayati.”

* * *

It’s to a soothing jazz number that Angela awakens, one of the vinyl records she bought Fareeha as a gift last Christmas. As soon as the vocals kick in, the Egyptian’s voice is soon to join in with the swinging cadence of the music. Angela prefers her voice to the baritone singer’s, but doesn’t open her eyes just yet when she hears Fareeha stepping closer.

The edge of the sofa dips before springing up again, Fareeha having chosen to take a seat by the foot of the sofa instead. Her singing continues, though with a more audible smile when Angela lets one leg fall to rest over her shoulder.

She only speaks when the song comes to an end.

“Good morning, Schätzli.”

“Good afternoon, habibti,” Fareeha corrects her, tilting her head back to gaze up at beautifully blue eyes that would finally look back.

Angela leans forward with the full intention to kiss her, completely forgetting that the blanket covering everything up to her neck was still practically attached to her. It flops forward over Fareeha’s face and Angela can barely stifle her giggling. Her nose bumps against where Fareeha’s would have been beneath the white sheet and then neither of them can hold back the laughter bubbling in both their chests.

It’s Fareeha’s turn to be embarrassed when she tries finding Angela’s lips from behind the thin blanket, bumping into first her chin, then her cheek. Sympathy giving way, the doctor lifts up the blanket and cups her face, upside down and pressing their lips together for far too short a time. If it weren’t for the grumbling in her stomach growing louder by the second, she would have gladly stayed like that until sunset. Fareeha reads her mind. Or rather, hears a particularly loud rumble.

“Do you still want my special blueberry brunch pancakes?”  


“Absolutely.”  


* * *

Raindrops dot the window panes with a quiet tap-tapping, a sort of white noise that mingles easily with the vinyls still spinning jazz and the classics from their small sitting room. Angela sighs contentedly, nursing a mug of steaming tea between both hands as she stands looking out at their window sill garden. Aster, buttercups, Queen Anne’s lace and, of course, more forget-me-nots. Fareeha had insisted, Angela remembers with a smile.

Giving the window a gentle push, it swings open on oiled hinges to let Angela hold one hand out in the cool drizzle. It would be alright walking through this to get to work tomorrow.

Work.

Another sigh, this time less content. It just so happens that Fareeha chooses to join her by the window in that moment, quirking an eyebrow as she notices the subtle change in her expression. It wasn’t that they didn’t enjoy their jobs. They were more than passionate about their respective fields and so the weeks passed quickly. Sundays were just - different. Different and wonderful in their own way.

“I checked your schedule, you have nothing until after lunch,” Fareeha says, turning to look at the flowers and then back to Angela whose shoulders relax at her words.  


“Thank you, mein Liebling.”  


“Always a pleasure.”  


Her mug switches hands so she can reach up and trace her thumb down the teardrop of Fareeha’s tattoo, then curve along its tail. It reminded her of tougher times that were behind them, days spent fighting a crisis and daring to dream - but never expect - for a future like today. Her lips rise to meet Fareeha’s with all the intensity of that life bundled into one motion and Fareeha never has trouble returning the kiss in full.

Seven days later, it’s just the same.

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday present drabble for my fave Mercy roleplayer! I intended to write something overwhelmingly angsty but domestic aus, they got me hard.


End file.
